


The Dead Hour

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU Derek and Stiles are adults, Angst, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek Has Feelings, Derek Has Issues, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Scott and Derek are still werewolves, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles is a ghost, Stilinski Family Feels, Talking To Dead People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Derek Hale is a troubled father to twins who speaks to his dead husband because he's so grief-stricken. He struggles to accept Stiles' death even though more than a year has passed, and feels guilty for having fallen for Scott in the aftermath of their mourning.





	The Dead Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I just imagined this and this short fic was born. I gave it a quick edit this morning, perhaps making it even more feelzy. Ugh!

2:12 am.   
This was the most difficult hour for Derek. Some called it the dead hour.  
Once the sun kissed the horizon good night and the children were safely cradled in the arms of Morpheus, the silence would shadow into the house. With it came the onslaught of paranoid thoughts and anxiety, enough to shorten his breath and constrict his werewolf lungs by half.   
Those would be the good nights, when wheezing was the only problem.   
  
It’s when the crippling grief and guilt also paralyzed him, that not even biting into his knuckles or kissing his pillow would be enough to stifle his weeping. That's when it got bad. Well, at the beginning anyway. Eventually Derek had learned how to cry without making a sound.  
Tonight was one of the bad nights. One of the crying nights.   
  
The wolf was laying on his side, the plaid cotton sheet only shrouding half of one muscular leg. The other, bent below him, stuck out and gently rubbed a lazy circle into the bedframe. This was his nervous tic, and in fact a dull mark had already appeared, the fabric slowly wearing away after months of insistence.   
One bare arm, bicep flexed, served as a warm headrest from which to comfortably suffer. The tears flowed freely, traveling up and over his nose, collecting as a dark blue stain on the pillowcase next to his right cheek. Derek did his best not to move, not wanting to wake the man sleeping beside him.   
It would have been nice if the easy cadence of Scott’s breathing could serve as the panacea for his ails, but that wasn’t the case. Not at 2:14 am.   
  
When the sun was out, and the day pushed the literal and figurative darkness into a corner, it was easier to cope. Derek’s moss eyes would almost sparkle, glad over how the twins had taken to their Uncle Scott. He was happy not to be alone in this parenting chaos, blessed that Scott needed it as much as he did in order to distract himself from what had occurred.    
“He’s good with them, Der,” said Stiles from the corner of the room. “You beat yourself up too much.”  
Derek nodded, a nagging truth to the realization that Stiles was right more often than he liked to admit.   
“I know. I know. It’s just – “   
Derek couldn’t deny that Scott was amazing with their children.  
Olivia, though the spitting image of Derek, had somehow picked up Stiles’ character. Derek knew biologically it was impossible, but the child had spent 5 years with her father and something had rubbed off. Her dark eyebrows would knit when one of them said something questionable. Her emerald stare remained caustic as her ruby lips spit Stilinski sarcasm.   
“Daddy, don’t be such a sourwolf!” She picked that up from Papa and it was devastating. The art of snark wasn’t the only attribute they shared.   
  
Despite all this, after a lifetime of being best friends with the brunette, Scott instinctively understood how to calm Olivia down when she got overly-excited. It was something he had done countless times for Stiles, as well as helping him focus when he was restless. His daughter was no different.   
This was a brilliant thing, especially since Derek was so troubled that he’d often lose his patience with her. This would only lead him to feel horrible afterwards. Since Scott was around full-time to be their uncle, the wolf felt much more serene. The younger man was a soothing presence for the entire family.   
  
Owen, instead, was a knife in Derek’s heart. To gaze upon his son was to see a mini-Stiles, down to the cute, nervous fingers that would latch onto his shirt as he’d carry him around. Even the mole-speckled skin, which tanned too easily, was a two-edged sword.   
Everytime he’d comb the boy’s chestnut hair (which was a constant, tousled mess), Owen's cinnamon eyes would shine with delight at his Daddy. His giggles filled Derek with love, because he always had a piece of Stiles near. To hold him against his chest and cuddle him was heaven, but also a gutting reminder that he didn’t have  _his Stiles_  any longer.   
  
The brunette shook his head. “I understand. Owen reminds you of me. And Olivia got my amazing sense of sarcasm. And you hate yourself for bringing Scott into your bed. I know you better than you know yourself, my love.”  
Derek tried unsuccessfully to silence the voice, but the comfort he found in it was worth the agony of having to accept reality. And so it accompanied him some nights.  
“I don’t know why you feel guilty, Der. All of this happened naturally. You were heartbroken. Scott was heartbroken. My two best friends found comfort in each other and fell in love. Oldest story in the book. Now, had you hooked up with Isaac, I would have been pissed.”  
Derek bit into his lip, laughing lightly. “You always know what to say to make me feel better, Stiles.”  
“That’s why we were so perfect together.”  
Rubbing his eyes, his fingertips absorbed some of the moisture from his long lashes.   
“I’m not in love with him, Stiles. I need you to know that. I love him but I’m not  _in love_ with him. I only ever loved you like that. Still love you like that. God I miss you, angel.  _We_ miss you. I miss your scent on our sheets, your smooth skin against mine. The twins speak about you daily.”  
  
Scott stirred, a tattooed arm reaching back in search of touch as he shivered. His palm found the top of Derek’s knee. With the assurance of the wolf being in bed with him, his body heat warming him from right behind, he relaxed.   
Derek lifted up the sheet and covered him until his waist, a part of it billowing above them.   
“He takes care of you and you take care of him. You need each other. It’s beautiful, and I’m not mad. I’m dead, Der. ‘Shot in an alley while protecting and serving’ dead. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve the arms of a man to comfort you at night.”   
Derek grumbled. “I should have waited longer. I’m sorry. It just happened.” The wolf rolled over, hand over his thumping, sorrowful heart. In the back of his mind is the recollection of the bagpipe music from the service funeral. It was awful. The whole town had shown up, all of them waiting for Derek to break down. But he didn't. Not then. Only every night since.   
  
Stiles stood over him now, caressing his cheek. Derek’s eyes shut at the imagined touch, and he sighed deeply.   
“You didn’t need my permission. And 14 months of torturing yourself were plenty. Let yourself be happy, Der bear. Do it for me. For them. For Scott. He deserves all the love you can give him.  He’s a good man.” 

 

Derek's ears perked up a moment later. The quiet steps of children's feet clambered down the hall. The twins were up.   
"The twins are up," Stiles stated the obvious.  
There was but a light knock on the door, and in what is children's typical disrespect for privacy, it made them barge into the room.    
"Daddy," little Owen (or  mini-Stiles) begged, "Daddy can we sleep in your bed? We had a nightmare."  
The twins held hands, Olivia's stormy green eyes puffy from crying. "Dada, we had a bad, BAD nightmare. There was a monster in our room with red eyes."

At the sound of their voices Scott stirred, sitting up in almost a comatose state. His deep, dark eyes used his wolf senses to see in the dark.  
"Babies, what happened? A monster?! Sure you can sleep here, right Daddy?"  
The question, though uttered in a sluggish voice, was rhetorical. Before Scott could finish his phrase Olivia had climbed into his lap and Owen was clinging to Derek's neck like his life depended on it. Their father, on the other hand, was looking elsewhere. Pensive and sad. 

Stiles smiled down, a ghost hand soft on his son's head. "They'll be fine, Der. You'll all be fine. They'll both grow up to be amazing people thanks to you and Scott. You've also got my Dad, you know that. He misses the kids." 

The ghost of Stiles Stilinski leaned, kissing his mate on the lips. Derek could almost feel the flutter.   
"You just remember that you deserve happiness, bear."   
Scott looked over, wondering what Derek was fixating. "Baby, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The wolf smiled weakly, clutching Owen lovingly to his body. "I'll be okay, Scott. It'll all be okay. Now let's get these munchkins back in their beds. Not sleeping in here anymore, kiddos."  
He directed his comment to the room as he rose, eyes locked with Stiles. "We have to make them understand that monsters are among us. But the biggest monsters are inside us. It's time for us to let all this go."   
Derek angled in, pressing his silky lips to Scott's. Stiles blushed and gave him a thumbs up.   
  
Olivia startled them, trying to act funny. Jumping up and down on the bed, she squealed. "Too hyper for this time of night, young lady," her uncle scolded her.  
Scott tickled her, pulling her near. "Be a good girl. Remember that your Papa is always watching you," he whispered in her ear.   
Stiles' arm grazed his daughter's, and suddenly she stopped fidgeting.  
"Uncle Scott, I miss my Papa."  
His best friend's disposition darkened, smooches on Olivia's cheek more for him than her. "I know, pumpkin. We all do. So very much."  
Stiles stood in his place and stole a glance in Derek's direction. "I love you and miss you all. Know this. I'll always be here for you."   
Derek nodded, body turned in the doorway before exiting the room. A half-asleep Owen's four limbs dangled from behind his torso as if he were wearing a spider costume. 

"Come on, monkey, let's get you to bed." Derek grinned for the first time in a long time, rubbing Owen's back. "You got her, Scott?"  
The other man swung the dark-haired girl by her armpits. "It may take a bit to get her down, but I got her."  
"Oh uncle ..." she giggled, "do that again! It's funny!"

Scott chuckled loudly, carrying the flopping girl towards the door. Derek looked back once more in trepidation before letting Scott pass.   
"Same time tomorrow?" he whispered to his heart's light, tone despondent.   
"Sure thing my Der bear," Stiles lied, slowly fading. "I love you."   
"I love you, too. Always." 

Deep down, Derek knew Stiles wouldn't be back, though he wouldn't admit it to himself for a while. After tonight Derek was certain the love of his life would be looking down upon them, confident that his sourwolf and his family would finally be alright.   
And at the end, they were.  
A couple years later, shortly after the McCall-Hale wedding, Noah Stilinski and Melissa McCall became grandparents, Noah for a third time. A mischevious golden child with black eyes and wavy hair brought even more joy to their already crazy house.  
Stiles watched over them as he always had and always would, grateful that the people he loved most had found happiness. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I keep writing sad shit. I'm waiting for this funk to pass. But in the meantime the Hale-Stilinski-McCall kids broke my heart.


End file.
